Wintersmith

ye defy me!”
    From below there was the sound of a lot of potatoes rumbling as the Feegles scrambled out through the little ventilation grill.
    “Now they’ve gone,” said Miss Treason. “They’ll stay gone, too. Boffo will see to that.”
    Somehow, in the space of a few seconds, Miss Treason had become more human and a lot less scary. Well…slightly less scary.
    “How did you find out? Did you go looking for it? Did you go prowling and rummaging?” said Miss Treason.
    “No! I’m not like that! I found out by accident one day when you were having a nap!” Tiffany rubbed her hand.
    “Does that hurt a lot?” said Miss Treason, leaning forward. She might be blind, but—like all the senior witches who knew what they were doing—she noticed everything .
    “No, not now. It did, though. Look, I—”
    “Then you will learn to listen! Do you think the Wintersmith has gone?”
    “He just seemed to vanish—I mean, vanish even more. I think he just wanted to give me back my necklace.”
    “Do you think that is the sort of thing the spirit of Winter, who commands the blizzard and the frost, would really do?”
    “I don’t know, Miss Treason! He’s the only one I’ve met!”
    “You danced with him.”
    “I didn’t know I was going to!”
    “Nevertheless.”
    Tiffany waited, and then said: “Nevertheless what?”
    “Just general neverthelessness. The little horse led him to you. But he’s not here now—you’re right about that. I’d know if he was.”
    Tiffany walked up to the front door, hesitated for just a moment, and then opened it and went out into the clearing. There was a bit of snow here and there, but the day was turning into just another one of those gray-skyed winter days.
    I’d know if he was, too, she thought. And he isn’t. And her Second Thoughts said: Oh? How do you know?
    “We’ve both touched the horse,” she said under her breath.
    She looked around at the empty branches and the sleeping trees, fiddling with the silver chain in her hand. The forests were curling in on themselves, ready for the winter.
    He’s out there, but not close. He must be very busy, with a whole winter to make….
    She said, “Thank you!” automatically, because her mother had always said that politeness costs nothing, and went back in. It was very hot inside now, but Miss Treason always had a huge log pile built by the Secret of Boffo. The local woodcutters always kept the pile high. A chilly witch might get nasty.
    “I should like a cup of black tea,” said the old woman as Tiffany walked in, looking thoughtful.
    She waited until Tiffany was washing out the cup, then said: “Have you heard the stories about me, child?” The voice was kindly. There had been shouts, there had been things said that might have been better put, there had been temper and defiance. But they were there together, with nowhere else to go. The quiet voice was a peace offering, and Tiffany was glad of it.
    “Er, that you have a demon in the cellar?” Tiffany answered, her mind still full of puzzles. “And you eat spiders? And get visited by kings and princes? And that any flower planted in your garden blooms black?”
    “Oh, do they say so?” said Miss Treason, looking delighted. “I haven’t heard that last one. How nice. And did you hear that I walk around at night in the dark time of the year and reward those who have been good citizens with a purse of silver? But if they have been bad, I slit open their bellies with my thumbnail like this?”
    Tiffany leaped backward as a wrinkled hand twisted her around and Miss Treason’s yellow thumbnail scythed past her stomach. The old woman looked terrifying.
    “No! No, I haven’t heard that one!” she gasped, pressing up against the sink.
    “What? And it was a wonderful story, with real historical antecedents!” said Miss Treason, her vicious scowl becoming a smile. “And the one about me having a cow’s tail?”
    “A cow’s tail? No!”
    “Really? How very vexing,” said Miss Treason, lowering her finger. “I fear the art of storytelling has got into a pretty bad way in these parts. I really shall have to do something.”
    “This is just another kind of Boffo, right?” said Tiffany. She wasn’t totally sure. Miss Treason had looked pretty scary with that thumbnail. No wonder girls left so quickly.
    “Ah, you do have a brain, after all. Of course it is. Boffo, yes. A good name for it. Boffo, indeed. The art of expectations. Show people what they want